it's hard to explain...

''I say the right things but act the wrong way
I like it right here but I cannot stay
I watch the TV; forget what I'm told
Well, I am too young, and they are too old
Oh, man, can't you see I'm nervous, so please
Pretend to be nice, so I can be mean
I miss the last bus, we take the next train
I try but you see, it's hard to explain''

The Stokes - Hard to Explain

Empire Falls

''Every empire will fall
Every monument crumble
Forgotten men who watch the centuries''




(concerto mais lindo de sempre!!)

Human

''The Far East. The Great North. The Wild West. The Great Bear Lake. Tristan da Cunha. The Mississippi Delta. Stromboli. The old houses of Charlottenburg. Albert Camus. The morning light. The child's eyes. The swim in the waterfall. The spots of the first drops of rain. The sun. The bread and wine. Hopping. Easter. The veins of leaves. The blowing grass. The color of stones. The pebbles on the stream's bed. The white tablecloth outdoors. The dream of the house in the house. The dear one asleep in the next room. The peaceful Sundays. The horizon. The light from the room in the garden. The night flight. Riding a bicycle with no hands. The beautiful stranger. My father. My mother. My wife. My child.''

-Wings of Desire

As paredes brancas da morte...

I know, someday, somehow, you're just gonna fuck things up...

Mors

"Se a morte fosse um bem, os deuses não seriam imortais."

-Safo de Lesbos

Assombros..

Às vezes, pequenos grandes terremotos
ocorrem do lado esquerdo do meu peito.

Fora, não se dão conta os desatentos.

Entre a aorta e a omoplata rolam
alquebrados sentimentos.

Entre as vértebras e as costelas
há vários esmagamentos.

Os mais íntimos
já me viram remexendo escombros.
Em mim há algo imóvel e soterrado
em permanente assombro.

Affonso Romano de Sant'Anna (Lado Esquerdo do Meu Peito)

Contemplação

''Isto dizendo, arrebatou-me ao alto de uma montanha. Inclinei os olhos a uma das vertentes, e contemplei, durante um tempo largo, ao longe, através de um nevoeiro, uma coisa única. Imagina tu, leitor, uma redução dos séculos, e um desfilar de todos eles, as raças todas, todas as paixões, o tumulto dos Impérios, a guerra dos apetites e dos ódios, a destruição recíproca dos seres e das coisas. Tal era o espetáculo, acerbo e curioso espetáculo. A história do homem e da Terra tinha assim uma intensidade que lhe não podiam dar nem a imaginação nem a ciência, porque a ciência é mais lenta e a imaginação mais vaga, enquanto que o que eu ali via era a condensação viva de todos os tempos. Para descrevê-la seria preciso fixar o relâmpago. Os séculos desfilavam num turbilhão, e, não obstante, porque os olhos do delírio são outros, eu via tudo o que passava diante de mim,— flagelos e delícias, — desde essa coisa que se chama glória até essa outra que se chama miséria, e via o amor multiplicando a miséria, e via a miséria agravando a debilidade. Aí vinham a cobiça que devora, a cólera que inflama, a inveja que baba, e a enxada e a pena, úmidas de suor, e a ambição, a fome, a vaidade, a melancolia, a riqueza, o amor, e todos agitavam o homem, como um chocalho, até destruí-lo, como um farrapo. Eram as formas várias de um mal, que ora mordia a víscera, ora mordia o pensamento, e passeava eternamente as suas vestes de arlequim, em derredor da espécie humana. A dor cedia alguma vez, mas cedia à indiferença, que era um sono sem sonhos, ou ao prazer, que era uma dor bastarda. Então o homem, flagelado e rebelde, corria diante da fatalidade das coisas, atrás de uma figura nebulosa e esquiva, feita de retalhos, um retalho de impalpável, outro de improvável, outro de invisível, cosidos todos a ponto precário, com a agulha da imaginação; e essa figura, — nada menos que a quimera da felicidade, — ou lhe fugia perpetuamente, ou deixava-se apanhar pela fralda, e o homem a cingia ao peito, e então ela ria, como um escárnio, e sumia-se, como uma ilusão.''

Memórias Póstumas de Brás Cubas (Capítulo VII: O delírio)
por Machado de Assis

The quiet mind..

''The happy life be these, I find:
The riches left, not got with pain,
The fruitful ground; the quiet mind;

The equal friend; no grudge, no strife;
No charge of rule nor governance;
Without disease the healthy life;
The household of continuance;

The mean diet, no dainty fare;
True wisdom joined with simpleness;
The night discharged of all care,
Where wine the wit may not oppress''

Translation of Martial, by Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey

And I feel this coming over like a storm again

Come out, come out, wherever you are...

Oh boy...This isn't going to end well....

Call Of The Zombie

And out of the darkness, the Zombie did call
True pain and suffering he brought to them all
Away ran the children to hide in their beds,
for fear that the devil would chop off their heads


Call Of The Zombie - Rob Zombie

I Dreamt I Dwelt in Marble Halls...

''Cessam os arautos de correr a liça
e já se ouve o som vibrante do clarim.
...Depois, vagarosamente, vem o silêncio por fim
e todos se aprestam para o combate.
Daí a pouco brilham as espadas combatendo
e na arena o sangue vai caindo, correndo...''


Chaucer

Porque toda a Morte é indestrutível

The Conqueror Worm

Lo! 'tis a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.

Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Woe!

That motley drama–oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.

But see, amid the mimic rout
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes!–it writhes!–with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.

Out–out are the lights–out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, "Man,"
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.



Edgar Allan Poe

The Marriage of Heaven and Hell

''If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is: infinite.''





''The sow came in with the saddle,
The little pig rocked the cradle,
The dish jumped o' top of the table
To see the brass pot swallow the ladle.
The old pot behind the door 5
Called the kettle a blackamoor.
'Odd bobbs' said the gridiron, 'can't you agree?
I'm the head constable, bring them to me.''



William Blake

Till human voices wake us

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.


The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock' by T.S. Eliot

Atrocity Exhibition

Asylums with doors open wide,
Where people had paid to see inside,
For entertainment they watch his body twist
Behind his eyes he says, 'I still exist.'

This is the way, step inside.

In arenas he kills for a prize,
Wins a minute to add to his life.
But the sickness is drowned by cries for more,
Pray to God, make it quick, watch him fall.

This is the way, step inside.

This is the way.

You'll see the horrors of a faraway place,
Meet the architects of law face to face.
See mass murder on a scale you've never seen,
And all the ones who try hard to succeed.

This is the way, step inside.

And I picked on the whims of a thousand or more,
Still pursuing the path that's been buried for years,
All the dead wood from jungles and cities on fire,
Can't replace or relate, can't release or repair,
Take my hand and I'll show you what was and will be.

Atrocity Exhibition - Joy Division

Weakness

''I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity. ''

Edgar Allan Poe

We belong dead!

''It's a perfect night for mystery and horror. The air itself is filled with monsters.''

Bride of Frankenstein